Night at the Library
by BeMused
Summary: Waking up one late night alone amid books, Ishida thought he had fallen asleep after too much of studying… only thing that he was not the only one in the library. Warning: violence, raping and swearing. Reviews are most welcome.


**NIGHT AT THE LIBRARY**

He blinked. What was the time now?

The place was too quiet, eerily so, for a library. There was not a single soft rustle of a turning page, the muted grating of a chair as it was pushed aside, or the stealthy light footsteps upon carpeted floor.

Well, he thought he heard one, not far off.

_Must be the head librarian or the janitor…_

Ignorant of whoever making the noise, Ishida knew that he should return home soon. No point burning all the midnight oil and missing his minimum of four obligatory sleeping hours. _Proper _sleep, he corrected, not snoozing off amongst the haven of gen. Straightening, oblivious of his spectacles which had almost slipped towards the edge of his nose, but remembering still to wipe off drools from the side of his chin, he began packing his stationery, stacking four or five reference books neatly at one side of the table, turning swiftly for the exit… and to bump into an unyielding furniture.

"Whoa…" he staggered backwards, hands reaching for the nearest object for support. Since when was there a bookrack placed in the middle of the corridor?

And, amid the dim hall, the bookrack did the most unexpected thing.

It _moved_.

Ishida adjusted his spectacles. "Oh, I am sorry. I didn't see you, librarian."

He was greeted with a chuckle. "You seriously think that I am a librarian," said a voice not entirely unfamiliar. "I have not waited this long just to see you acting like a fool."

Adjusting to the dim surrounding, he gradually made out the looming figure standing steadfast, arms crossed, at the corridor. Recognizing it as none other than the darker side of his implausible comrade in recent battles, and grasping at the same time the hazardous situation of him alone facing with a half crazed Hollow, Ishida uttered a panic gasp and moved involuntarily away from the person before him, taking a cautious step backwards… another step… and another… And soon Ishida found himself standing tensed at a dead end made up of a book shelf, the wall, and an empty study table.

Though his befuddled mind already planning for an escape, he doubted his lost Quincy power could buy him enough time to break free from this precarious situation.

Right then, whilst thinking he was the only one trapped within the darkened library, he spotted further away a silent, blond haired student lying over folded arms by a table, soundly asleep, apparently.

"Ichigo...?'

Hollow Ichigo shock his head disapprovingly. "That little dickhead is always trying so hard to build an image of an honoured student while he is already perfect in his own way. I pity him." With the sadistic grin stay plastered at pallid face, he swept his eyes lithely over Ishida, head cocking aside. "Just like you, he fell asleep. And so I _decided_ to come out to have some fun.

"Seems like my lucky day to find you here," he continued, menacingly closing the distance between him and Ishida. It was hard to overlook the mischievous, untamed glint in his eyes as they studied intently at his quivering target. "Guess what, I want to hear you _scream_ tonight."

Tongue-tied, and not entirely sure of his real intention, which unquestionably ranged from pure bloodshed to something more… unimaginable, still, not once in his life Ishida would readily let himself be a sitting duck – he could at least try kicking some sense back at his friend.

"Uh… Ichigo," he said in a tone as neutral as he could muster, quietly wishing for a steadier voice. "Stop fooling around. This is not funny. Get back to your body quick. We have to leave this place before…"

He was abruptly cut short by a blur of movement. Traces of sleepiness soon vaporised as he was forcefully pushed rearward against the edge of an empty table. The surprise did not stop there. He found himself bending at his waist, backwards, over the table, all the while keeping a futile distance from the unsolicited advances. Eventually, when he could lean back no further – the back of his head hitting hard at the smooth surface of the table – cold lips vehemently clamped over his, resolving to devour him within one ferocious kiss.

Ishida was so not expecting, or prepared for, such intimacy. With eyes shut tight, both of his hands shot up blindly, against gravity, to clutch at broad shoulders. Beads of cold sweat began to set at his brows as his frantic mind re-evaluated the unanticipated situation: What was the best means to stop, and at the same time not to further infuriate, the Hollow?

Heedless of his frightful gasp, strong fingers came to grip roughly his checks, securing his head in one place. A tongue slide pass parted lips into protesting mouth. It rubbed against the rough ridges of the hard pallet, before sliding further down the throat, inadvertently gagging Ishida. Oblivious of the consequences, he began tentatively sucking at the tongue, very hesitantly, thinking that the action might substantially control its movement while altogether feeling the more vulnerable.

Then he thought he heard a purr. That and the realization of Hollow Ichigo humping at his thigh got blood rushed up his face. Making an ambiguous sound, he pulled desperately at the hand holding his cheeks. It gave way; Ishida soon turned to a side, away from the beseeching tongue, eyes reopened and gasping for breath.

The Hollow had not the grace for commiseration. "Take off your clothes."

Barely catching his breath, Ishida stared wide-eyed at him. "What?"

The smiling face remained unchanged, but the fingers around his upper arms tightened threateningly.

Ishida got the message – the Hollow had not after all the intention of killing him. Humiliate him, perhaps. Torture him, most probably. Kill him, unlikely so… for the time being. Knowing him from previous adventures he would never have wasted time on trivial things, not when he had finally gained control over Ichigo's coordination. So, escaping was not an option, Ishida decided. And he might as well do everything as pleased the HollowollowH. An archer was never good at close range combat, and he was not as courageous enough as to embrace the risk of having his bones comminute or his throat ripped.

Ishida resolvedly reached for his tie. How he could wish his hands to stop shaking!

Unnervingly, Hollow Ichigo made no attempt to move away, to give more room for his manoeuvre. There were only those freaky unblinking eyes just inches above him, observing his every movement, hungrily absorbing in the pleasure of tormenting his prey. It suddenly occurred to the Quincy that he represented a guinea pig about to be dissected, and the Hollow was the one with the anaesthetic and scalpel: all these bitterly reminded him too well of the reason he hated the Shinigami so much.

With the tie removed, he went on for the buttons.

"Those spectacles are getting in the way."

It sounded was more like a command than a simple remark.

Nonetheless, keeping a neutral expression – Ishida had long ago quitted calming his palpitating heart – he mutedly reached up for the spectacles, halfway and, surprising even the Hollow, shoved his elbow with all his might back at his face. Without stopping to take a look behind, he scrambled to his feet and, grasping the much anticipated opening, made a dash for the exit. However, he managed only till the third step before he was pulled mercilessly back by his hair, thrown callously back at the table… back under Hollow Ichigo's mercy.

He flinched at a punch which landed heavily on the wooden table very close to his left ear.

"Don't make me ruin your pretty face, _Quincy_." The last word came out almost like a hiss.

Choking back a terrified cry, Ishida nodded. "Yes," he blurted. "No, I mean… I am sorry."

The darkened library did not hamper his vision from spotting the bleeding nose – he could not decide feeling good for offending the Hollow or feeling bad for hurting his friend.

Right then something within the Hollow stirred. Something the Quincy had long been waiting for.

"Shit! Not now…"

The golden haired youngster drew back abruptly, knocking at a bookshelf, making a great deal of noise. His face contorted to a grimace as he reached up to clutch at his own chest, the other over his face. Ishida showed no interest on whatever that was happening as he made a second attempt for the exit. Yet, whatever internal turmoil had occurred between Ichigo and his Hollow self, it ended as quickly as it started.

"You think I would let you go that easily?" a voice cooed near to his ear.

Ishida halted abruptly, his breaths rapid and shallow. Since when had he become so certain to escape from the determined Hollow? As soon as he stopped, an arm came winding about his chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt, holding him tight against the larger figure behind.

A shiver ran down his spine.

"Ichigo…"

"Have you given up on running away from me?" the importunate voice had now an added, lustful tinge to it. The Hollow just had to pay attention of not breaking the Archer's fragile form while breathing in his unique scent. A free hand snaked around his waist to rest over his flat belly.

"Please stop…"

"Take off your pants."

Tired of fruitless objections, he did what he was told.

The hand soon moved over his mount. Free from the barriers of garments it took within its grasp his lifeless form and started stroking him almost too roughly, determining for a reaction.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he reached up involuntarily to clutch at the supporting arm. His legs felt week. And he might fall if not for the arm holding him upright. He was neither conscious of the strange noises he was making, nor the hard _thing_ driving against his butt from behind. He leaned backwards, standing with legs slight apart – partly for support, partly because... it felt _good_ to have someone stroking him.

As if reading his mind, Hollow Ichigo chuckled. "Has our Quincy boy been masturbating?"

Blushing furiously and, unable to contain himself any longer, Ishida let loose a deep throated grunt. "Ichigo…!"

Satisfied with his reaction, the hand worked on harder, alternating between just the right doses of teasing, squeezing and massaging. It stopped over the tip as Ichida finally ejaculated, wasting himself into his sweaty palm.

He felt nauseated, drowsy. Trying not to think what the Hollow might do with his semen, Ishida nudged at the arm holding him tight. "That's enough… Let me go."

"Not yet," the husky voice drew goose bumps all over him. "This is only the beginning." With that he threw the protesting youth unceremoniously down on to the lightly carpeted floor, swiftly pinning him under his weight.

"Just curious: never had your ass done before?" he grinned at his trembling prey.

"No," Ishida breaths came out as terrified gasps. "Please, don't..."

Hollow Ichigo spat a mouthful of saliva into his palm and, mixing it with what was already presented there, he reached down between the Quincy's legs and effortlessly found the tight opening. Ignoring the anxious pleas, one agile finger thrust gently into the warm entrance… followed unhurriedly by a second finger… and a third.

"Relax, Quincy bitch. You will get to love it."

_Moments Later..._

He could make it for the exit this time.

He was not sure of how late the night was. But he was sure that quite some time had passed since their previous steamy excursion. And although the library had long since returned to its daunting silence, he could not as much as brush away the eerie feeling of hearing the echoes of his own shameless screams, or clear the thoughts of those vicious gaze pleasurably observing him reduced to nothing more than a whimpering toy – thorn and bloodied, but audaciously still begging for more.

No, no matter what had happened, he definitely could make it to the exit now.

Shifting ever slightly, mindful of the searching pain at certain points of his body, Ishida willed himself up to a kneeling position – sitting was impracticable, for now – and glanced anxiously at his surroundings. To his surprise, things were where they originally belonged. Not a single piece of furniture in the library was… soiled. Hollow Ichigo had been careful of not letting either the two of them to spill over public place.

Blushing at his thoughtfulness, the Quincy glanced over where the Shinigami rest. Having his darker side returned to hibernation mode, Ichigo presently lay spent beside him, his breaths heavy but steady from his last execution: exhausted, asleep, harmless.

All… Kurosaki Ichigo.

This was the Strawberry the Quincy was familiar with – he could virtually _smell_ the difference when Ichigo finally gained complete control over his own self… the expression upon discovering what had actually occurred during his dearth equated self annihilation. And, with the knowledge of the monstrous being hidden behind troubled, furrowed brows, one fact became crystal clear to him that, sometimes, even in full wakefulness, Death had no control over fate.

The fact left Ishida feeling broken, betrayed… used.

Yet part of him still wished that…

"Ichigo," he whispered.

He reached forward, stopping abruptly at a particularly stinging pain. Looking back at his naked, wretched form, and spotting dried crusts of blood mingled with… bodily fluid, did he grasp fully the extent of injuries to which he had endured. With all evidence of scratch marks and ugly bruises, he doubted he could act as if nothing had ever occurred. He really felt like a fool convincing himself his _normal_ counterpart would never do anything like this to him, not without his consent.

He reached out once more to shake gently the sleeping figure.

"Wake up, Ichigo. We need you to get back to your body… We have to leave before someone found us."

**THE END**


End file.
